Game Changers
by tinseltown
Summary: Sam and Dean head to Mystic Falls to investigate the strange things that go on there...but run into some vampires they can't make up their minds on: friends or foes?
1. Chapter 1

_Note: This is my first fanfiction ever. It takes place before season 5 of The Vampire Diaries and season 3 of Supernatural. This first chapter is going to be super short, because I'm nervous about my first story, but if I continue it, the chapters will be much longer than this. _

Dean Winchester opened his eyes and sleepily rolled in his cheap motel bed over to see his brother, Sam Winchester, sitting at the small table by the window, staring intently at his laptop and frowning slightly. Dean turned to the bedside clock on his nightstand; it was 6:30 in the morning. Way too early to be functioning like a normal human being. Trust Sam the geek to be up and at it, researching away like a good little hunter.

"Finally, you're awake," Sam said seriously, not even looking at Dean. "I've been waiting for two hours."

_Scratch that_, thought Dean, staring at Sam. Sam wasn't a geek—he was a freak of nature.

"We have a big one," said Sam.

"A _what_ now?"

"A case, you idiot. Get up. We don't have much time to waste."

Yawning, Dean got up and went through the motions of brushing his teeth, washing up, and changing into new (yet old) clothes while Sam explained the situation to him: "Basically, there's this town called Mystic Falls, in Virginia, and it's like it's been completely overtaken by supernatural creatures," said Sam, still frowning at the screen. "It's insane. Dozens of weird deaths over the past few years, houses and bodies going up in smoke, bloodless bodies, bodies torn apart, people mysteriously drowned, people who mysteriously vanish… And it all started a few years ago. Before that, it was a quiet town with almost no crime. But get this!" Sam said, suddenly getting excited, his inner geek coming out again. "Mystic Falls _does _have a history with the supernatural. About 200 years ago, the town was overrun by witches and vampires."

"But it's been clean since?" asked Dean, pulling on an old flannel button down over his gray t-shirt.

"Uh, yeah," said Sam. "Up until, like, two years ago anyway. Looks like it might be a nest of witches, vampires, and—I can't be sure, but…werewolves?"

""Great," said Dean sarcastically, shoving things into his bags. "The Holy Trinity. This should be _buckets _of fun."

Sam rolled his eyes, throwing books and his laptop and weapons into his duffel bag. "Come on, get your stuff. Let's go."

Dean spread his hands out in a _Seriously, dude? _fashion. "What, no breakfast?"

Sam gave him a look. Dean privately referred to it as The Look. The look that was half-exasperated and half-pissy and said, _Seriously, Dean? You're gonna act like that/be like that/say that right now? What is wrong with you? Get with it_. "Dean. People are dying. Let's go."

"No donuts for me today, I guess," Dean muttered, grabbing his gear.


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: I am changing TVD's history/mythology just a little bit. For example, the Founding Families, etc. Carry on! _

In the car, Dean couldn't help but notice that Sam was acting a little more than manic. "I can't believe we never saw this," he kept saying. "Two years, Dean! This town has been a hub for supernatural activity for years! How did we _miss _it?"

Dean gave Sam a strange, semi-weirded out look but chose not to respond. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. Sam was probably feeling weird about the whole Gates of Hell thing. Dean knew _he _was feeling nervous for sure. Dean had gone on dangerous hunts before but he'd never had the fate of the world—or, at least, the country—on his shoulders before. Sam was probably just being weird and erratic due to stress and guilt. When the going got tough, the Winchester brothers got tougher—and that meant they felt responsible for saving even _more _people.

But by the time Sam had said it ten times in a row, Dean was nearing the end of his patience. "Sammy," he interrupted, "let it go. I get it, it sucks, we missed it—but we were kind of busy hunting down Dad and that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, in case you forgot. That was a little more important."

"Yeah, you're right," Sam said, sighing. "But…still…_two years_—"

"OKAY!" said Dean, cutting him off. "Time for some silence!" And by silence, he meant loud music, turning up the radio to some golden classic rock. It was the only way Dean could think of to shut Sam up.

The drive to Mystic Falls, Virginia, thankfully only took about seven hours because they hadn't been that far away but it took a little longer because Dean had to stop to fill up the Impala's gas tank and _then _he had insisted on grabbing some food from a nearby diner. But around seven hours wasn't too bad, in Dean's opinion. The worst trips were when they had to go cross-country. Sitting in a car with Sam for too long became a bit unbearable. He sometimes liked to tell Dean "interesting facts" about things Dean didn't care about. Dean tolerated it because even though dorky educational Sam bored him, Dean felt sort of guilty about tearing Sam away from school or whatever.

Although…Dean glanced over at Sam—who was staring aimlessly out the window—and frowned. It sort of seemed like Sam hadn't told him facts or anything in a while. Actually, Sam seemed really different, like the old Sam was vanishing faster and faster, and it worried Dean. Dean could handle the crappy parts of his life—but Sam was different. Sam could _tolerate _the crappy bits but Dean knew Sam aimed for more…

"We're close," Sam said suddenly, startling Dean.

"Thank god," grumbled Dean. "I could go for a burger."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, you _ever _stop thinking about food?"

"Nope," Dean said, smiling cheekily at the road ahead of him.

A sign that read WELCOME TO MYSTIC FALLS appeared by the forest by the side of the road. Dean didn't like forests; ugly-ass monsters liked to live in forests. They drove in silence for a few minutes, and then suddenly the Impala smashed to a stop as if it had hit an invisible wall. Dean slammed on the breaks and the car skidded dangerously, letting out a high-pitched _screeeeeeee_.

They skidded to a stop, after doing a half-donut, and slammed back into their seats, shocked and gasping. "What the—" Sam started but Dean was already leaping out of his seat to check on his precious baby. Sam followed suit slowly, shaking himself out, looking thoroughly bewildered.

"Not a scratch!" Dean said incredulously, prowling around the Impala, inspecting every square inch, lifting the hood and checking under it. "I'll be damned!"

"That's a _good _thing," reminded Sam.

"I know, but what the hell happened?"

Before Sam could answer, a car approached down the road. The driver—a young ginger teenager—slowed down and yelled, "MOVE YOUR CAR, ASSHOLES!" before maneuvering around the Impala and roaring off. Sam and Dean watched him go with squinty-eyes and open mouths. They were so shocked that Dean even forgot to flip the kid off.

"How did he…?" began Sam.

"No idea," finished Dean.

They got back into the Impala and Dean gingerly turned the Impala around and slowly inched towards the invisible wall. But this time they passed clean through, as if nothing had ever been there to stop them.

"I have no idea what just happened," Sam said slowly.

Dean's mouth pressed into a flat line. "Add that to the other list of friggin' mysteries in our lives."

Sam had no reply to that.

Mystic Falls was a quaint town, large yet still home-y and small. A comfortable size. It was lush with the scenery of the East Coast: tall, thin red trees and muggy yet cool air. The town itself was charming, lots of brick-paved roads and wrought-iron fences and large houses and eclectic, semi-high end boutiques.

"It's a nice town, minus the, uh, grisly murders," Dean said, shrugging. Sam shot him The Look and Dean shrugged again, grinning.

Mystic Falls didn't have any of the cheap motels that Sam and Dean were accustomed to staying in, so they had to rent out a room at a local bed-and-breakfast. They dumped their gear on their beds and then headed out to find some burgers before Dean murdered someone. Hungry Dean wasn't pleasant to be around for _anyone_. They found a local eatery called the Mystic Grill and got a small table near the back, ordering burgers and pulling out Sam's notes.

"So," Dean said through a mouthful of burger that had just been served by a blonde teenage boy, "what's the real deal with this town?"

Sam stared at his papers, ignoring his burger and fries. "The legends about this place are crazy. I _still _can't believe we—"

"AHEM," said Dean.

"Anyway," continued Sam. "Like I said, lots of paranormal activity a couple hundred years ago, like two hundred years. Looks like…witches? And vampires? Judging by the news reports, anyway… And then this church burned to the ground and it seems like every creature just sort of left for a while."

Dean frowned. "Because of a _church _burning? What, you're saying this was a work of God?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, Dean, that's not what I'm saying. I have no idea what the church has to do with this—but it's obviously connected. But back to my notes… About two or three years ago, stuff started happening again. A lot of weird deaths, fires, bodies found. Not many people ever caught.

"And get this!" Sam said intensely. "Mystic Falls was originally founded by five founding families: the Gilberts, the Salvatores, the Forbes, the Lockwoods, and the Bennetts! Well, actually, the Bennetts weren't acknowledged as a founding family back then because they were African American—"

"Ah, good old racism," Dean said, making a small face and knocking back his Coke.

"—but they've since been acknowledged now. Of the Gilbert family, Johnathan Gilbert was reportedly obsessed with hunting vampires. He may have been a hunter, who knows? But if you look closely at the deaths over the past two years, you can sort of see that they're connected in some way to these founding families."

"This burger is DELICIOUS," Dean said in amazement, his cheeks stuffed so much they hurt.

"DEAN!"

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean chuckled, wiping his mouth. "You're right. These founding families seem kind of shady. Any living relatives?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "They all have some sort of family alive till this day."

"Alright, let's go check 'em out."

Sam did some quick research in the car to figure out where the descendants' houses were and then they were on their way. The weather was nice and the town seemed peaceful and Dean couldn't help but think how strange it was that so much murder and death had managed to pervade such an innocent-looking town. How did parents let their kids out at night, with all the dead teenagers who had been found in ponds and lakes and the woods with snapped necks and drained blood and burned bodies? Dean sure as hell wouldn't let his kid out with something on the loose, if he had a kid.

They stopped at the Lockwood house first…or, rather, the Lockwood mansion. They rolled up to it and raised their eyebrows at the mansion with the gates and security cameras. "Yeah, this isn't happening right now," said Sam. "We can come back later. Next."

The next house was the Bennett house, a quiet two-story house in the suburbs. The EMF radar went haywire the closer they got to the house and, exchanging grim looks, they both stealthily pulled out pistols and slowly crept around to the back. But no matter how hard they tried to kick in the door—or even any of the windows—none of them would budge or shatter. They didn't so much as _shake_. It was like they were made of cement and Sam and Dean's legs were fuzzy pipe cleaners.

"Think it's a hex or something?" Sam gasped, hitting the door with his enormous frame.

"I guess so," panted Dean, slamming into the door in a futile effort. "Next house."

The next house was the Forbes house. "Alright, my info says that the town sheriff lives here, so we need to be careful," said Sam. "We don't need the FBI on our tail again."

Dean chuckled. "No, we do not."

There was a tiny bit of EMF going off at the house, but not much. They got in easily and no one was home. There was a teenage girl's bedroom, with clothes thrown on every available surface—and none of them had blood on them. The whole house seemed clear. "There's a little EMF here…but I don't know what else to check," said Sam.

"Then let's keep moving," said Dean. "We can come back."

The next house was the Gilbert house, a slightly larger, nice, two-story house in the same suburb. There was EMF at this house too and they had no trouble breaking in; again, no one was home. The house was quiet and empty and neat. Some of the rooms—many of them, in fact—looked like no one had lived in them for a long time. There was a teenage boy's room, filled with lots of black and band posters and half-eaten plates of food everywhere, but a layer of dust covered it all, as if no one had come inside for a long time.

"Where _is _everyone in this house?" muttered Dean. "Dead?"

"Where was everyone in the other houses?" asked Sam. "You'd think _someone _would be home…"

"Work," suggested Dean. "Or school." He frowned. "Your records…did they say there were teenagers in every family? You don't think _they're _the ones involved in this crap? Teens can be really stupid sometimes—"

"Come on, Dean," said Sam. "A little witchcraft, I'd agree. But full-scale stuff like this? It'd have to be a _cult _of teenagers."

Dean shuddered at the thought of a cult of snotty little punks and then complained, "I have no idea what is going on in this damn town," opening the last door.

It was a teenage girl's room, decorated very cottage-y sort of way, neat unlike the last teenage girl's room. Dean inspected some of the photos stuck to a tack board that featured an slender olive-skinned girl with long, straight dark hair; probably the girl who lived in this room. He shrugged. "Pretty cute."

"Dean, look at this!" said Sam, sliding out a diary from under the bed's mattress (_Seriously? _thought Dean. _Under the mattress? Are teenagers even dumber than I thought they were?_). "I don't read people's diaries—"

"But I do. Gimme that," said Dean, swiping it from Sam and threw himself onto the girl's bed, making himself comfortable. "Make me a sandwich or something, man, I may be a while."

Sam ignored him and left to go explore the rest of the house. Dean began to read, expecting dull _Dear Diary, Jason sooo totally does not like me! Oh my god! _crap but quickly became engrossed in the diary. An hour later (Dean was a fast reader, despite not really reading much—or ever) he snapped the diary shut, stuffed it back under the bed, and strode out to meet Sam. "Dude. I know exactly what is going on here—and it's NUTS."

"Crazier than the Gates—?"

"Yeah, almost," said Dean, still in shock over what he had just read. "Come on, we need to get out of here. Get back to the bed-and-breakfast. I'll explain there. This crap is _insane_!"


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: I will be taking some liberties with TVD's story lines and mythology, simply because they're so convoluted in the show that I don't think it matters—such as making the Bennetts one of the Founding Families. And I'm not following TVD's timeline as well as I really should, simply because I want to sort of pick and choose what characters show up and what happens, so…consider this almost an AU if not following the proper timeline of the show bothers you. Carry on! _

As they drove back to the bed-and-breakfast, Sam shot Dean some curious glances but Dean was too busy lost in thought to really notice or care or answer his inquisitive looks. After reading that girl—what had been her name? Lana? Elena? Yeah, it'd been Elena… After reading that Elena chick's diary, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to save this town…or burn it to the ground. He felt vaguely sick just thinking about the total insanity that had been going on here and now he felt like acting like Sam and repeatedly demanding, _"But how could we have missed this?!"_

_ Well, better late than never_, Dean thought grimly, cutting off a slow red Toyota. The Toyota honked angrily and Dean stuck his middle finger out the window and muttered, "You're in the left lane, asshole, you're supposed to speed it up."

"Uh, Dean, he can't hear you," said Sam.

Dean didn't notice; he was still too busy furiously thinking about the diary. The fact that a human teenage girl had been writing it…made it all the worse for him. No teenage girl should have gotten caught up in a mess like this. The way she wrote about it…as it this was a part of her _normal _life…was not okay. This was not normal. This was—

"Dean, we're here," said Sam.

"Huh? What?" Dean snapped out of his reverie and realized they were parked in the bed-and-breakfast parking lot.

"We've been sitting here for five minutes," said Sam, now looking concerned. "Dude, are you okay? What was in that journal?"

"Talk in the room," said Dean tersely. He led the way up to the room and Dean shut and locked the door. He paced around the room for a moment, trying to clear his thoughts and decide the best course of action. Sam watched him for a few minutes and then burst out, "Dean! Speak to me! I'm dying here!"

"Okay, but…" Dean ran a hand through his wheat-colored hair, making it stick up in random directions. "This is nuts. Take a seat."

Sam, looking extremely nervous now, sat down in a chair and Dean sat down at the edge of the bed across for him and then began to explain. Dean was normally one to keep things short and simple, but this story was way too complicated to tell quickly. He forgot some of the details, but he managed to convey most of the story to Sam: all about Elena's parents' deaths and her struggles to move on; how she'd met the Salvatore brothers and discovered they were vampires; how her family and friends had all slowly died or been turned into vampires or discovered they were witches; how she had faced up against all manner of psychotic circumstances, like blood sacrifices and hunters ("I don't like to talk bad about hunters, but this guy sounded like a total douche, even if he _was_ a hunter," added Dean. "Apparently he murdered an innocent human girl to use her blood as bat for the bloodsuckers." Sam's eyebrows had shot up at that) and creatures called _hybrids _made by a vampire family called the Originals, and curses and legends.

When Dean was done talking, two hours had passed. "And I'm telling you, dude, there was _more _in that journal!" Dean said, shaking his head incredulously. "I just started skimming at the end 'cause I felt so sick."

"W…Wow," said Sam, exhaling. "This is…this is, ah, crazy. You were right. It _is _the teenagers."

They sat in silence for a while and then Sam asked, "Okay, so what do we do? Should we call in some other hunters? This seems a little out of our league."

"_What_?" Dean scoffed. "No! We can handle this. We don't need help."

"Okay, but consider the facts," he said. "We're dealing with a whole nest of vampires, more than a few witches—I think—and a whole pack of werewolves? And what the hell is a hybrid of a vampire and werewolf? Is that even possible?"

"I guess, if you're into that kinky—"

"DEAN."

Dean grinned.

"_And_," Sam continued, "I hate to bring this up…but as you were telling me the story, I couldn't help but notice…these vampires, witches, and werewolves seem different than the ones we've ever encountered."

And there it was. The thing that had been nagging at Dean the most, the thing he hadn't really wanted to think about—but now he had to. Because he had gotten that feeling too, when he'd read Elena Gilbert's journal. Something had been _off _in the way she described things. Since when did the veins around a vampire's eyes darken when they got hungry? Dean had never seen that. And since when did witches do spells without hex bags? This Bonnie girl Elena mentioned twenty million times, she seemed to do spells by chanting and lighting candles and calling spirits. That did not sound like any home-grown, occult-book-reading witch Dean had ever encountered. In fact, Bonnie sounded more like a _mystic _to Dean…but that's not what Elena called her. And even this hunter sounded strange. Since when did hunters kill innocent people to bait vampires?

Wait. Gordon Walker had done that.

_Scratch that thought_, Dean thought to himself. Maybe some hunters _were _psychotic enough to try and murder innocent humans to hunt vampires. But even that hunter's methods of trapping and killing—or what Elena understood of the methods anyway—didn't seem like anything Dean had ever heard. He had tried to stake a vampire with a wooden stake, but Dean, Sam, and every other hunter on the planet knew that the whole wooden stake thing was an urban myth. Cutting off the head of a vampire was the only way to kill one.

And _yet_. Elena had described vampires who had died in the past few years and none of them had lost their heads (from what Dean had read anyway). Some had been "daggered", whatever _that _meant.

And then there was the even bigger problem that was causing Dean issues: Elena, Caroline, Bonnie, Jeremy, Tyler—and whatever other teenager's name she had mentioned. These kids were all in high school. It wasn't the first time that teenagers had gotten entangled with supernatural creatures…but it didn't work out _this _way. Usually a teenager would stumble across some paranormal beastie and would either fall in love with it or form an alliance—only to have the creature turn on them in the end. Dean had seen enough stupid, dead teenager who had dabbled in things they shouldn't have, gone places they shouldn't have, to doubt this theory. Teenagers + the supernatural = not a safe mix. But _here_, in Mystic Falls… It was like some of the vampires, witches, and werewolves _were_ on the side of the teenagers. Hell, Elena was even in love with both of those Salvatore vampire dudes and neither of them had tried to kill her yet. And these vampires, witches, and werewolves fought alongside her against _other _vampires, witches, and werewolves. Making alliances, fighting internal civil wars. Dean had never heard of anything like it.

"I don't know what to do," he announced, sitting on the bed. Dean didn't usually admit that he had no idea what to do—but he honestly didn't, in this case. This was all beyond him. "Anything in Dad's journal?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Sam, still flipping through it. "And if Dad never caught a wind of these guys…"

"We don't know how to kill them," finished Dean. This made him _extremely _uncomfortable. Dean didn't mind hunting a monster he didn't know exactly how to kill; he usually ended up stabbing, shooting, and chopping the beast up and then salting and burning them. No matter what the monster was, doing _all _of that usually worked, if they didn't know how to kill it. But stumbling into a network of werewolves, vampires, witches, and hybrids _blind_? It wasn't going to work this time.

Suddenly Dean had a pounding headache and he didn't want to think about this anymore. He wanted to drink alcohol and flirt with a cute girl at a bar. He stood up and grabbed his brown coat, wishing for the millionth time he knew what had happened to his beloved leather jacket, and said, "I'm going out for a bit."

Sam's head snapped up. "Wait—what? But what about…" Sam's voice trailed off at the sight of Dean's expression. "Okay," said Sam calmly. "You go out for a bit. I'm going to head to the local library and do some research, okay?" This was the way _Sam _coped with the unknown. Burying himself in knowledge.

"Alright. See you." Dean left. He looked at the Impala for a minute, considering if he should leave it for Sam to drive to the library—but _nah_, the library was only a five-minute walk from the bed and breakfast. Dean worried about Sammy a lot, but Sam was still a huge guy who knew how to fight. Any normal human bothering him wouldn't have a chance. Besides, Dean didn't really trust anyone else to drive his baby. He admired the Impala glinting in the lowering sun for a moment, the black hood and silver chrome winking cheekily at him, and then he slid into the car and headed off in search of a bar.

He didn't search long. He ended up back at the Mystic Grill—he had noticed a bar at the front when they'd been earlier. The blonde guy who served them last time was still there. He raised an eyebrow when Dean walked in and said, "Back so soon?"

Dean shrugged and half-grinned. "Food's delicious."

The blonde nodded. "I'll tip to that." His nametag read MATT.

Dean settled at the bar and then sighed, running his hands through his messy blonde-brown hair, making it stand up stylishly on end without even meaning to. Dean had been blessed with extraordinarily good looks that he obviously didn't work for, being on the road and slumming it up in motels 24/7.

"What can I get for you?" The bartender, a pretty redheaded girl, asked him, smiling at him. Bartenders always smiled at Dean like that. He ordered and she spun away to get his drink.

"That's some hard stuff."

Dean started at the noise and then turned to see the guy next to him, eyebrows raised but smiling amiably. He had pale skin, messy black hair, and a fantastic black leather jacket that Dean felt almost jealous over.

"Yeah, well, it's been a rough day," muttered Dean. "I need the hard stuff."

The guy chuckled. "Don't worry, I drink my sorrows away too."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Your sorrows?" The bartender set the drink down in front of him.

"Well, currently, the girl I'm in love with is in love with my brother," the other guy said, brutally open and honest and unflinching. His tone was casual and easy and his eyes glinted wickedly—but Dean could sense just a _tiny _bit of bitterness in the guy's tone.

Dean whistled. "That's rough." He couldn't imagine what he'd do in that situation. He didn't have a girl he loved that much…there had been Lisa, years ago…and Cassie…what if one of them had preferred Sam? Would Dean be angry with Sam? Or would he have wanted Sam to be happy? Dean honestly had no idea. Sam was the most important person in his life—but the idea of Lisa or Cassie choosing Sam over him also made him uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well, what can you do?" The guy rolled his eyes. "They'll live happily ever after and I'll be the best man at the wedding and the one cracking inappropriate jokes every holiday. I can already see a sit-com made out of this. It's gold."

Dean chuckled. "My life could be a TV show too…but I think it'd be more like a horror show."

"_That _bad?" The guy nodded and made a _Hmmm _sort of face. "Yeah, my life could be…a bloodbath as well, I guess. If you want to go with the horror genre." He laughed silently to himself. Dean had no idea what that meant.

And then he couldn't hold it back any longer. "That's a fantastic jacket," he said. "I had one too…a real beauty…I have no idea what happened to it. Lost it, I guess." He shook his head, mourning his jacket.

"Thanks," the guy said. "This one's…vintage. Got it _years _ago." He chuckled to himself again, slammed back his drink (Dean noticed it was his third in as few minutes) and then set it down on the counter. "Well, I'd better roll. I'll see you around here again, I'm sure, and we can drown our sorrows."

Dean chuckled. "Alright, man. I'm Dean Winchester, you?"

"Damon Salvatore." Damon mock-saluted him and then sauntered outside the bar, where Dean—frozen to his barstool—watched him get into a classic 1969 Chevy Camaro convertible and drive away.

Dean couldn't think. He was in shock. Damon Salvatore. The guy's name was _Damon Salvatore_. The same name he had read only a thousand times in Elena Gilbert's journal. The vampire. He'd just had a decent conversation with the vampire who, according to Elena, had no problem being "diabolical" and killing human after human.

The vampire had _good taste in leather jackets and cars. _

_ Son of a bitch_, Dean thought wonderingly. _I've just been had by a vampire with good taste. _He could almost have pictured Damon as a _friend _to him—ironic that Damon was someone Dean planned to kill. Even though Damon had been normal and had a nice car and had spoken about _love _and hadn't tried to kill any humans. But he was still a monster, wasn't he?

Yup. It was definitely time to drink until Dean couldn't think anymore.


End file.
